Food Fight
by JadziaKathryn
Summary: Why is Tom cleaning the bridge? It started with a piece of chicken...


Disclaimer: Paramount owns them, I'm just borrowing. 

FOOD FIGHT

"If Tuvok hadn't said it was unwise, I could've flown that beauty!" exclaimed Tom Paris. "Sometimes I just want to box his pointy ears." In frustration, he slammed his fork on his plate. 

On their latest away mission, the Kneeos had said that he could take a short spin in one of their shuttles. He jumped at the opportunity to fly something new, but Tuvok had decided that, as Tom was unfamiliar with the technology, a small incident could turn into a disaster. Tuvok being in command of the mission, that was that. Hours later, Tom was still smoldering over the lost opportunity as he and B'Elanna had dinner in their quarters.

His fork came down at just the right angle to launch a piece of chicken at his wife. It hit her forehead squarely on the ridges he found sexy, and slid down her nose, bounced off the front of her uniform, rolled down her leg, and finally landed a few centimeters beyond her feet. It left a trail of marinade the whole way.

B'Elanna looked at him for a moment before sending a forkful of buttered rice his way. Then the food fight was on. Lost opportunities forgotten, Tom was laughing so hard at the sight of B'Elanna with corn all through her hair that he had to remind himself to breath. She was laughing too, because Tom himself was quite a sight. Rice covered his uniform coat, giving him the appearance of a dalmatian. Streaks of the reddish marinade coated his hair. In fact, some of the food actually found its way into their mouths as they flung and laughed. 

Wiping rice off his eyelids, Tom opened them just in time to see B'Elanna come over with a third of a glass of wine poised in his direction. "B'El…" his protest was broken off by the sound of the captain's voice.

"Battle stations." 

They looked at themselves. Rice, chicken, marinade, and corn covered them from head to toe. They simultaneously dashed towards the closet for new uniforms.

"On the double," added Janeway's voice. They turned and headed towards the door in silence.

"I think I'm about to set a new record for the shortest time ever as lieutenant," moaned Tom in the turbolift. "Showing up covered in dinner during a battle might just be enough to make my promotion history."

B'Elanna was trying to pull corn out of her hair with one hand and wipe chicken-flecked marinade off her uniform with the other. "At least you don't have to give orders. Some people might find it difficult to take orders from someone with corn in their hair."

"I'll trade," offered Tom. "You don't have to make a food-covered appearance in front of Captain Janeway." He sighed and resumed flicking rice off his sleeves. 

"This is all your fault, you know."

"MY fault?"

"If you hadn't sent your chicken flying at my face, this never would've happened."

"It was an accident!"

"Uh-huh." Further protest was cut off when B'Elanna leaned over to kiss him.

Crewman Larry Sanders was on his way to his post via the turbolift. It opened to reveal Lieutenants Paris and Torres, both coated in food, kissing.

"Be careful, flyboy," Torres said lovingly as she wiped a marinade mustache off her husband and exited the turbolift.

Sanders stood rigidly next to Paris, acknowledging him with a clipped "Lieutenant."

"Crewman," replied Paris, looking exceedingly embarrassed. He managed, however, to walk off the turbolift and on to the bridge with a poised body.

"Take the helm, T…Tom?"

Thinking that he could at least postpone his reprimand, he asked what their status was. It wasn't great; interstellar scavengers had decided to steal valuable resources from them. Soon he was flying _Voyager_ as aptly as ever, the food covering him forgotten. It was only after the hostile species retreated and they were once again on course that Janeway summoned him to her ready room.

"Do I dare ask?" she began.

"No?" Tom suggested hopefully.

"Once you've changed into a clean uniform, I expect the food on the bridge, and all traces of it, to be removed immediately."

"Yes, Captain."

"I'll notify Lieutenant Torres that I expect the same thing in Engineering." Years ago, Tom might've been surprised that Janeway deduced so much, but not now. He resigned himself to an evening of cleaning. "Dismissed."

He had almost reached the door when he heard the captain's voice again. "Tom," she added, "who was winning?"

"B'Elanna," he replied, remembering the wine that had been second away from him. Then he left, smiling. 


End file.
